


I Am Rather the Fallen Angel

by Anonymous



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Background Cassandra/Kaylie, Canonical Character Death, Dangerous Situations, Deception, Drama, Drinking, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Fantasy Elements and Creatures, Going from evil to not so evil is a bumpy road, Grief/Mourning, If y'all end up liking this that is, Internal Conflict, It's a slow and windy process tho guys, Moral Ambiguity, Mutual Pining, Mystery, Other Tags to Be Added as Story Progresses, Past Keyleth/Vax'ildan (Critical Role), Post-Campaign 1 (Critical Role), Raishan gets character development, Romantic tension but they deny the hell out of it, Semi Slow Burn, Sexual Tension, Two druids being dicks to each other for twenty or so chapters, Violence, as a treat, background perc'ahlia - Freeform, duh - Freeform, redemption arc, the mature rating will be valid in later chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:00:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23190529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Raishan, freshly cured and still licking her wounds of the feeblemind spell, tries to move on from the past. But when an evil force starts to devour the forests, and, soon, everything else along with it, she must align herself once again with a certain druid. This time, though, she won't be the one to end up dead. She'll make sure of it.Or the one where two druids team up again and maybe this time things will go a little differently.
Relationships: Keyleth/Raishan (Critical Role)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 14
Collections: Anonymous





	I Am Rather the Fallen Angel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got this idea when my bus broke down in the middle of absolute no where a few weeks back. You see, as I sat there watching helplessly as my bus driver, who was most definitely out of his goddamn mind, opened up all the windows in 30°F weather, I thought to myself, 'if I'm going to freeze to death, I might as well indulge my need to write those two fuckers I've been scared to'. And thus I began this journey.
> 
> IMPORTANT: Canon? I hardly know her! Seriously though I am taking my liberties both with plot themes in the show as well as the magic rules established in DnD. If that's gonna irk you, no hard feelings! This probably isn't the fic for you though! Also, there is most definitely a few mistakes I missed in editing, so feel free to point any out.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy :)!!!

_"Thou turn’ st mine eyes into my very soul, and there I see such black and grained spots"_

_Hamlet 3:4_

-

Raishan's fingers clutch against the cobblestone, supporting herself as she hobbles down the dim tunnel. Blood smears against the cold stone with each press. She feels it and it warms her rage as it trickles down her arm. 

A bird calls loudly from somewhere above. She must be getting close to the surface.

She stumbles over a book on the floor. She curses and kicks it to the side. It was a non-fiction about the art that was crafted pre-calamity. She originally only pretended to read it to impress a high elven woman at the library, tan skin and big brown eyes. She was easy enough to seduce though, and the chase was over as soon as it began, but she found herself the next morning at the library again. She stole it and decided she'd read it later, as she's always been interested in how humans view beauty in their tiny lifespans. Shame she never got to it.

_How long could this fucking tunnel be?_

She can taste her own blood and poison in her mouth. It's rather the vial mixture; bitter and metallic and completely unappealing. She always preferred spellcasting to her feral attacks. She had to rely on her magic to make up for her size. Druids in Pyrah, that now lie in ash piles, helped build her arcane arsenal. Maybe those morsels were good for something.

_Druids._

She stops in her tracks, leaning against the stone wall. 

That druid. _Keyleth._ That red mop of hair on that girl's head will soon be covered in blood if she has any say in it. The Diseased Deceiver, thwarted by a puny feeblemind spell. 

She growls and continues her journey with anger-fueled haste. She whispers a quick healing spell over her wounds to put more energy into her step. She has to get off this blasted island. A cure wounds spell can slow the process but ultimately she's bleeding out. She needs somewhere to rest. And find a healer, preferably. Someone dumb enough to not ask any questions but smart enough to heal wounds. 

A healer is far away, though, and she's too weak to fly. She curses under her breath. 

_Think._

Her mind is foggy, still recovering. How did she even make it out of that room? How is she alive? Feeblemind requires a restoration spell, so who healed her? Who resurrected her? 

_And, more important than who, why?_

Her mind throbs, she pinches her nose, hunching against the wall and falling to the floor.

Dark green hair falls in tangled clumps in front of her eyes that she's far too exhausted to be bothered to push aside. Blood seeps through her fingers as she clutches her injuries.

She rests her head against the stone wall behind her. Very thin beams of sunlight poke through the cracks in the ceiling, casting spots on the dirt of the tunnel. 

She's dying. Whoever revived her clearly wasn't trying to do her any favors. It'll only be minutes before she bleeds out. 

Perhaps this is hell. It's a reasonable explanation; the Goddess of nature giving her infinite torture for her deed all those years ago. Die. Revive. Amnesia. Crawl away. Bleed out. It certainly sounds like hell. Melora never struck her as the vengeful type, but then again Raishan never cared much for the pettiness of Gods and zealots. So she really wouldn't know, something she's not usually willing to admit. 

If this is hell, though, surely it wouldn't be so fucking cold. 

"Whoever you are, who resurrected me," she calls out into the empty tunnel, wincing as she sits up straighter. "I can't begin to understand why you'd go through all the trouble just to leave me to die again. But then again, the idiocy of the creatures below me never ceases to stump."

To her immeasurable surprise, she receives a response.

"Well, I didn't do it for you."

The voice is masculine, distant and unfamiliar. Almost like a loud whisper, or an echo. She scans her surroundings but sees nothing. 

"Curious. I usually can see through invisibility and illusions, yet your voice is sourceless."

She receives no answer. 

She bangs her fist onto the floor.

"Who are you?" She demands, strained.

"It doesn't matter. You'll never see me."

She slumps once more, water drips from the ceiling of the cavern onto her head, mixing with the dry blood smeared across her forehead.

"Why do it? Why bring me back?"

"I wouldn't have. Like I said, I didn't do it for you. But if what I'm told is true, hopefully it won't be for nothing."

Her eyes grow weak. She tries to ask for what end have they done this, but she can't get her mouth to move. Slowly, her eyes close, and the world fades out.

-

She blinks her eyes open. Sunlight bleeds through trees and onto her skin. She groans, sitting up. She looks down at herself. Blood still stains on her skin and clothes, but the wounds have closed. She scoffs.

"You should learn that human saying. Do something right the first time and you won't have to do it again," she calls out but gets no response. 

She stands, brushing off the dirt. The trees are familiar. She's still on the island, but on the outer edge. She can hear the gentle waves crashing against the sand close by. The air smells of salt and dirt. She hates the shoreline. She visited a port town in her youth and was immediately disgusted. How anyone could tolerate the stench of rotting fish every day is far beyond her. That being said, an island served as a good hiding place.

She runs her fingers along the left side of her neck somewhat hesitantly. She grins, wide, and laughs. The skin under her fingertips is smooth. No disease. Her veins no longer show threw her skin. Her ailment is gone. She doesn't quite remember finding the correct spell for her cure. Truly, she doesn't remember much. The battle with Vox Machina is the last clear thing in her mind, however long ago that was. How long was she dead? Weeks? A month? It's like there is a space in her memory. Like someone tore out the middle pages of a novel and only left the beginning and the end. She was fighting with those brats, and then she was dead, and then she was back again in her lair. Bleeding out _had_ been a rude awakening. 

No matter. She got what she wanted. She's cured. 

Thordak's corpse was destroyed, so her plans of using him as a dracolitch is no longer something she can pursue. But she'll figure something out. She always does. She's clever. She's always had to be. 

She begins to make her way to the beach, climbing over branches and ducking under low trees. A leaf runs across her face, and she recoils as a sticky black substance smears across her cheek. She rubs it away with her hand, scowling.

What did she even do before she began her search for a cure? It's hard to remember, it feels like a lifetime ago. Perhaps she'll return home. To the jungles of Rifenmist. Make another lair. She'll do what she pleases, as she always does, without a whim for anyone around her. She'll take back the jungle she used to rule. And, decidedly, she'll leave Melora's followers be. 

Yes, that is what she'll do. Until she bores of it, at least. Or until she decides to pay Keyleth a visit for revenge. Feeblemind is not what killed her body but it is when _Raishan_ died. Her intellect, her cunning, all gone in the few seconds it took Keyleth to utter those arcane words. 

She makes her way to the shoreline, where she quickly turns into her dragon form, and, with a grin, takes flight. 

-

She lands in the northern end of the jungle. Breathes in the air. It's raining lightly, the trees' leaves droop and drip onto her scales. 

It reminds her of when she was young. She was on her own from the moment she was born. Too small for a mother to bother with her. It would be too much energy to teach her how to fight and how to kill and how to feed because _surely_ she'd die anyway. So, she'd taught herself how to survive. And the only way to do so was to lie. If she couldn't survive as a dragon, she'd have to pretend to be something, someone, else. 

She'd learned how to disguise herself as a young human girl. When she'd hear an animal, or sometimes a hunter, coming through the trees, she'd drink the rain that the leaves had collected, as if she was dehydrated and lost. Scared and alone. And she'd pretend she was none the wiser to their presence. The predator would underestimate her, or the hunter would pity her. Both mistakes. And she'd get a meal. 

Ever since she's always preferred to be in her human form. The other dragons she's had the displeasure of knowing looked down on her for it. They saw it as a betrayal to their higher status as dragons to disguise it. They all had critical levels of brain rot, so she's not entirely surprised. If Thordak had been shrunk down to her size and thrown out into the world, he wouldn't have survived to see one sunset. 

She smirks at this thought as she weaves through the trees. It's been so long since she's been home now. She's been searching for her cure for so long. 

The rain dripping from the tree line grows thick. She blinks in confusion, looking up.

The green that sits above head appears to be covered in a black, sticky sludge. It adheres to the branches and snakes down the trunks. A splotch of the gunk falls and lands onto her head.

She growls, shaking it off. She transforms into her human shape.

The more she looks, the more she sees it. The grass around her has been infected as well, sticky and dead. The bushes in the area droop from the weight of the sludge, their roots protruding from the dirt. The flowers wilt in mass, dead leaves and petals fall to the ground. 

She grimaces, stepping forward. As she walks the black matter only gets thicker and more frequent. 

_Her_ jungle. The only one who can allow it to die is _her._

She presses on, noting the dead birds and animals that stick to the ground, covered in the slime. Flies buzz around in mass, swarming the decay.

Through the trees, she can see something that stands out among the black. 

A glowing white light emanates through the dead branches. It is oval in shape, long and slim. A low vibration rattles the leaves around it, causing a dull ringing sound to shake through the vicinity.

She quickly recognizes it to be a portal or a rift. Similar to the one she had opened to the fire plane, but on a far smaller scale. 

She approaches it cautiously, stopping at about ten feet in front of it. If it is a portal, she can't risk accidentally being sucked in.

She turns up a nose in disgust as she watches a fountain of the black goo pour out from the portal, like a slow, oozing waterfall.

So, it isn't going to be as simple as returning home and doing as she pleases. 

Her ears catch the sound of rustling trees and low muttering. She turns around, scanning the forest floor. 

With her good vision, she is able to see the two figures approaching from a distance. Two women, elven, light leather armor with some greenery as attachments. They're most definitely druids. She's never met them personally but she's seen glimpses of them in her time in Pyrah. They're Earth Ashari. They won't recognize her.

She stands facing them as they warily make their way to her. They catch sight of her and they stop in their tracks, defensive.

"Who are you?" The blonde one asks in common, eyeing her.

"I'm Joan of the Fire Ashari. I've come to investigate the sludge here," Raishan responds in druidic, smiling.

The shoulders of the women relax.

"We as well," the brunette responds. "Is it in Pyrah?"

"I haven't been to Pyrah for months. I was sent a message to come here."

The women nod. "This infection has spread. It's devastated our home in Terrah."

_Not good._

"Was there a portal like this as well?" Raishan asks, looking at the rift. It floats in the air a good foot and a half, like a tear through reality.

"Yes, and it gets bigger the more it stays. Our leader went into it. She hasn't come out. It's been days."

_Bad._

"Have you learned anything about it?" She asks the women.

"Just that it consumes everything it touches. Killing the forests and the animals that roam in it. We fear in a few weeks' time, there won't be any forests left in Tal'dorei. We don't know about the other continents."

_Very bad._

"Has anything worked on it? Fire, magic, anything?"

"Nothing we have tried. We lack a leader now, we're doing our best but nothing we try succeeds. It's almost like an incurable disease."

Raishan's eye twitches. Perhaps this is only happening in Tal'dorei. It would be immensely irritating but she could travel to another continent. Wildmount could suit her well. But if it could be helped she'd rather stay. 

An idea shines down on her. Keyleth is rather talented in these sorts of affairs, as much as she hates to admit. She could disguise herself and get Keyleth to come to investigate. That druid could recognize the portal or the goo, and work out a plan to solve it. Maybe with her little band of tiny companions. Then, after it is done, she kills her. Getting the revenge she wanted. Two birds in one simple stone. And if she is unable to fix it, she kills her and flies to Wildmount. 

"What has your leader said about it?" The blonde woman urges.

"He has told me we need to alert the Air Ashari. Keyleth. She's skilled in things of this like."

"Keyleth?" 

"Yes, is she with the Air Ashari now? Where can I find her I will retrieve her myself."

"She is not. She is North in the town of Whitestone. The royal family there is expecting a child, she is with them."

Raishan bites back a smirk. It always begins in Whitestone, doesn't it? Things do have a way of coming full circle. Though this time, she won't be the one to end up dead. She'll make sure of it.

"Whitestone it is then. Stay here and guard the portal."

She stomps back down the path in which she came, heading north.

-

Whitestone, in all actuality, is just one large, frozen-over graveyard. Raishan never will understand why anyone decided to settle here in the first place. She's convinced the humans only stay for the ghost stories. _The castle breathes,_ they say. _The grief of the royal family still lives in its walls._

Humans always loved the dramatics of a scary tale, she supposes. 

In the woods just before the city proper begins, she hides behind a tree. She disguises herself as a half-elven woman, early twenties. She begrudgingly let's go of her green hair, not wanting to give anyone any hints to her identity, should they suspect anything. Instead, she gives herself dark brown hair and bright hazel eyes. Completely and utterly normal. She'll be able to blend in like this. 

She gives herself a simple maid's outfit and begins her journey into the town.

People are buzzing around. Children chase each other in circles, laughing and throwing each other into the freshly fallen snow. The sun sits high in the sky, casting diamond glints onto the ice. 

Merchants call at the passing people, and drunkards sit outside the taverns, bottle in lap. 

It's so much more...lively than she had last seen it. When she first arrived here the city was somber and sullen. The refugees that made up a large portion of the population then were all grieving their lost loved ones. They have seemingly moved on now. Or perhaps they are pretending to be. 

The sun tree sits in all of its glory in the center of town. The only thing warm in Whitestone. As she passes by it, she examines the branches. No goo to be found. She runs her fingers against it as she wanders past. 

She eventually makes her way to the castle. It is larger than she remembers. A banner with yellows and purples shows the De Rolo's crest above the doors. 

The castle has a few guards outside the front entrance. One she recognizes to be Seeker Assum. She chuckles to herself. The one beside him is a younger man, blonde hair and smooth features.

She forces a small, polite smile and approaches the doors.

The two men pause in their conversation as Assum looks to her.

"Hello," he says.

"Oh, hi," she says in a light and high voice, so unlike her own. "I'm sorry, I'm terribly lost. My name is Lucille. Or just Lucy, for short. I'm a maid for the Lady, I've just been hired. First day."

Assum quirks an eyebrow but seems to buy the act with a smile. She's thankful it will save her a charm person spell. 

"Of course, miss. Kynan, why don't you take her to see Lady Cassandra."

"Yes," he says, nodding. The boy seems nervous, or far too eager to please.

He turns on his heel opens the door, allowing Raishan to enter first.

It is as elegant as she remembers it, though some things have changed. The wooden floors are shiny and freshly polished. The entryway is open and bright. The staff is more frequent and more...happy.

For some reason, there are piles of bouquets scattered across the foyer. All of different flowers and colors. Petals litter across the floors as the quick hands of maids rush to clean them up, scooping them into their arms. A maid wheels by with a cart full of ball gowns. 

"Were you hired for the wedding? I'm sorry in advance. Lady Cassandra isn't usually so spastic. But with her coming wedding and her brother's child to be born shortly, she's being pulled quite thin."

Raishan digests this information as she is lead up the winding stairs. So, that gunslinger, Percival, survived after all. She could have sworn she'd torn him into ribbons. And now he's expecting a child. That means she most likely died around 8 months ago. Dead for that long and she can't remember a thing. Maybe the gods really were bluffing about an afterlife. Maybe there isn't any variant of hell nor a heaven. Or maybe she just can't remember. The lack of definitive answers irks her greatly. 

She's met that human girl he's referring to before. Cassandra, Percival's sister. Brown hair with the white streaks if she remembers correctly. Same quick wit as her brother, Percival, but she wonders if they would bleed the same under her claws. 

"I was," she says after a moment, staring at his back as they reach the top of the stairs. "She needed assistance in picking flowers and dresses. That sort of thing."

The boy, Kynan, laughs, now walking beside her down the west hallway of the second floor. "That she does. She almost had me trying on dresses."

Raishan takes a moment to admire the paintings that hang against these walls. If nothing else, the humans have art. She observes them as she walks by. They all must have been painstakingly handcrafted. She wonders how many strokes of a brush it took to create just one. 

"Interesting," she says, stopping to look at one that catches her eye. She runs her fingers against the painting, feeling the texture of the paint.

It's a dark portrait. The background of the painting is dark grey with looming black clouds. In the center is the only color the image has, a human face and torso, but it is blurry. The man has long, black-feathered wings protruding from his back. Above him is the biggest thing in the painting. A large, feminine porcelain mask looks down upon the man.

Kynan stops and comes to observe it with her.

"It's the Raven Queen. And her champion, Vax'ildan," he says, a sad smile on his face.

Raishan's eyebrows furrow together. "Right."

If Keyleth is here, it's a good chance Vax'ildan is as well. Hopefully, he doesn't get in the way of her plans.

"Right this way," Kynan leads her down the hall further before stopping at a white painted door. He knocks lightly with the back of his hand.

"I'm here with the assistance you requested," he calls through the door. 

The door swings open, and there stands Cassandra. Her hair is tied back into a ponytail, the white of her hair hangs out of the ribbon, coming down to frame her face. She still looks young, but her eyes seem to hold a certain sadness and wisdom that could only belong to someone twice her age. She's wearing a grey waistcoat over a white button-up shirt, where the sleeves have been rolled up to her elbows. Her pants are black and she has long brown boots on. Raishan quickly notes the rapier resting at her side.

Cassandra smiles politely, but her eyes squint in confusion.

"Hi, m'lady, it's Lucille. You hired me a few days ago to help you with the flowers," Raishan says, trying her best to smile sweetly. 

Cassandra opens and closes her mouth a few times before bringing a hand to her face and chuckling.

"I'm sorry, there's been a lot going on. I feel like I've been hiring ten people a day. Forgive me for not remembering. I'd lose my head if it wasn't attached to me. Do come in."

Kynan politely dismisses himself. 

The room she enters is large, with a giant bay window that covers most of the left wall. Snowflakes crust along the edges, and from it, you can see all of Whitestone below. The room is in a similar state of disaster as the foyer. There are flowers strung about on a large table, as well as a few dresses hanging from the walls. 

She notices they are not alone in this room. A gnomish woman is sitting on the seat of the bay window, a stringed instrument in her lap. The woman has short brown hair, that has a slight wave to them at the end. She's wearing simple clothing with a notable bardic flair. She does not look up as Raishan enters the room, seemingly focussed on adjusting her instrument.

"Kaylie, someone's here to help with the flowers," Cassandra says, wrestling around in a bouquet.

"Hope you're miracle worker," Kaylie snorts. "Meet my fiancé, she's the smartest woman I've ever met, runs a city for Christ's sake, but she can't pick flowers."

So, _she's_ Cassandra's betrothed. An interesting development. 

"Don't mind her," Cassandra says. "She's just grumpy about the lack of ale that's going to be at the wedding. Flowers are important to her too."

"Rich people," Kaylie mutters. "Wine lovers, the lot of them."

Cassandra ignores her, turning back to Raishan. She is holding up two flowers in her hands. One is a classic white rose of sorts, and the other is a purple extravagant flower 

"What do you think?" She asks.

Raishan has to find a way out of this room. She came to find that druid and now she's wedding planning. The unification of people with such limited lifespans is pointless and ultimately not worthy of the effort. She doesn't understand why they bother. 

Raishan looks between the two with a small sigh.

"White is a classic but won't stand out against all the snow here. The purple one is interesting but you don't want the flowers to outplay the dresses. Neither."

"Huh," Cassandra says, nodding in contemplation. She sets them down. "Alright, I'll show you some more."

Kaylie huffs from her place at the window, arms crossed. "This wedding isn't about flowers, you know."

"Of course it's not," Cassandra begins to say eyeing Kaylie with a serious frown.

"It's about the wine," Cassandra continues, breaking out into a playful grin, winking at Kaylie.

Kaylie groans, sticking her tongue out at Cassandra, before storming out of the room. 

Cassandra chuckles, watching her leave. Once the door is shut Cassandra returns to rifling through bouquets.

"She doesn't know this, but I actually have ordered quite a bit of her favorite ale for the wedding. She's been such a good sport putting up with me and all these wedding shenanigans," Cassandra explains, smiling softly.

Cassandra sighs, turning back to Raishan, exasperated.

"What color would you recommend?" She asks.

"Green," Raishan says without a beat. "it's unique. White may be the color for weddings but it represents purity and virginity, outdated concepts. Green means life and beginnings."

Cassandra thinks on this, rubbing her chin.

"I can see why I hired you," Cassandra says. "Stay here, I'll see what we have downstairs of the green variety."

She practically runs out the door, ponytail bouncing behind her.

This is her chance.

Raishan waits until the footsteps have faded before making her way out of the room.

She wanders quickly back to the stairwell and ascends, two steps at a time. She dodges wandering maids and cooks who look at her strangely as they descend past her.

As her feet hit the landing of the third floor, she sees a familiar face.

Vex'ahlia. Her features remain mostly the same. Dark hair twists into a side braid. A blue, vibrant feather sticks out behind her ear. Except for her belly, which has grown far outwards to make room for a child. Her left hand is resting on her baby bump, the other on her hip. She is walking, slowly, towards the stairwell.

She would know where Keyleth is, surely.

"Excuse me, Lady Vex'ahlia?" Raishan asks, walking towards her. 

She looks at her. "Alright, I know I'm not supposed to be out of bed but look, my legs work and if I don't go outside I'm gonna die of boredom or kill someone. So, don't tell my husband. And don't tell my sister in law."

"I'm not here to tell on you. I'm looking for Keyleth of the Air Ashari."

Vex'ahlia stops in her tracks, properly looking at her now. Her eyebrows come close together and she folds her arms.

"What for? Who are you?"

"Oh, pardon my manners," Raishan bows formally, "I am Joan of the Air Ashari. It's nothing serious. Her father wanted me to deliver a message. He's quite busy with some local matters."

The ranger looks her up and down, surveying her. 

"How come I've never heard of you?"

"I don't know Keyleth personally, so by extension you've probably never heard of me. I saw you once though while you were visiting Pyrah; I had business there."

"What's the message? I'll pass it on," Vex'ahlia says, stubborn.

Raishan almost smirks. The ranger was always a little more insightful, a little bit keener of eye. 

"I'm under strict orders to not share this information with anyone else. I'm sorry. Once I've told her she is free to do with it what she pleases, and if that includes involving you that is her business. I'm sure you understand."

Vex'ahlia looks to the side, pondering.

"She's probably in the library. Two doors to the right. Don't tell anyone I'm out of bed," She says, continuing her journey towards the stairs.

Raishan strides to the library door. She catches her reflection in the hallway mirror and stops to look, rolling her eyes at her own illusion. She quickly brushes a strand of hair behind her ear before shifting towards the door. She stares at the wood for a moment, hand grazing against the metal handle. She can smell her scent through the wall; honey and naiveness. 

She puts her chin high and opens the door.

The library is bigger than she first pictured it. Bookshelves stand tall and reach against the ceiling. There are large velvet chairs in the room, as well as a low burning fireplace. That bear they keep with them lies in front of it, sleeping. Next to it is a table with a few scattered notes as well as a dagger tied under its surface.

Her heart jumps to a soaring speed when she catches sight of red locks. It was clean cut the last time she saw that hair. It has grown some from its bob and now falls an inch below Keyleth's shoulders. In the warm lighting, it shines like a halo on her head. She is wearing a simple red tank top and brown pants. There are new tattoos upon her smooth skin. They lie upon her shoulders and wrap around her back, black and swirly. Her circlet is still wrapped around her head. Raishan wonders if she ever takes it off. 

Keyleth does not notice her presence with her back turned to her. She is staring out the window on the northern wall, transfixed on watching the snowflakes fall.

A rage thumps through Raishan's veins, and, briefly, she thinks about grabbing that dagger and ending the druid's life before she can even blink. The thought passes, and her rationality cools her anger. 

She clears her throat. Keyleth turns, with surprise on her face.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Raishan says, forcing worry onto her face. "I hope I'm not catching you at a bad time."

Keyleth shakes her head with a small smile. "No, I'm just in my head, I'm in there too often these days. Do you need something?" 

That voice. It feels like centuries since she's heard it. 

Raishan feigns a sheepishness as she shuffles forward, joining Keyleth at her side. "I'm Joan. I'm of the Earth Ashari."

Keyleth shakes her head, smiling warm as a summer dawn. "Earth Ashari? What are you doing in Whitestone?" 

"Something awful has happened. I didn't know who else to tell. I- I don't know what to do," Raishan stutters, looking down at the floor.

"Slow down, what's happened?" Keyleth's smile drops into a deep frown, forehead creased with worry. 

A raven flys onto the window sill in front of them, croaking loudly in their direction. 

"The forests...they've been infected. This goo has covered all the greenery, eating away at it. Whether it is from a disease or a curse, I know not. Something strange lies in the woods. It's spreading."

"Spreading? Where?" Keyleth asks, now more desperate. 

"The Rifenmist jungle. But in Terrah as well. There are these rifts in space. These portals seem to be the source of this sludge. Our leaders ventured into the rift and have not come out. It's been weeks."

Keyleth covers her eyes in her hands. "I feel like I just got done saving the world. What more can the universe take from me? My home? My people?"

"Your fight against the Chroma Conclave was tiring, I know, but as they say, evil never rests," Raishan says. "Will you help us?"

Keyleth removes her hands and squints down at her for a moment. "The Chroma Conclave?"

The raven pecks at the window, a small crack stretches across the frozen glass. It caws again, this time louder. Raishan eyes it. Keyleth does too.

"Yes, the dragons you defeated to...save the world."

"Well, right. But that was almost two years ago...I was referring to you know...Vecna? The evil litch guy me and Vox Machina defeated?"

Raishan holds her breath, hoping that the surprise does not show on her face. Two years ago. She was a corpse for two years, rotting away in a cavern. Her fist clenches at her side. She's considering the dagger plan once more. And who the fuck is _Vecna?_

"Right," she says through gritted teeth, unable to recover from her shock.

"How did you find me again?" Keyleth asks slowly, looking her over.

"I was sent here by our leader, you know her surely," Raishan responds, trying to remain stoic. 

The raven calls at them again, twice this time. 

"But your leaders went through the portal? You said you haven't seen them for weeks?" Keyleth asks, confusion growing.

_Fuck._

The door of the library swings open, and in comes Cassandra with an arm full of green flowers. 

Raishan's eye twitches.

"Ah, there you are," Cassandra huffs, walking over, stopping in front of them by eight or so feet. "I got the flowers. Oh, Keyleth, I see you've met my excellent wedding consultant."

"Wedding consultant?" Keyleth begins. "She's a druid of the Earth Ashari."

Suddenly, the raven flutters away from the window, before circling around and diving at it. The raven crashes into the glass, shattering it.

Raishan ducks as it swoops at her head, flying in a circle across the room. Cassandra drops the flowers in her hands and covers her head with her arms, crouching to the ground. The raven croaks at them once more, piercing loudly through the air, before fleeing out the window. 

She groans, shaking the shards of glass off her hair. _So much for plans._

Raishan grabs Keyleth by the wrist, pulling her close. 

Cassandra stands, looking at them wide-eyed. "Wait!" 

But it's far too late. Raishan completes the incantation of her teleportation spell in one quick breath _,_ and they're gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave me a comment letting me know if you'd be interested in more or not!!!

**Author's Note:**

> If you wanna chat, my Tumblr is @maythedicebewithyou
> 
> Thank you so much for reading :) <3!!


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